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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28630476">Manners and Customs of the Noldor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning'>daphnerunning</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Elrond is just the tiniest bit feral, Gen, Post-War of Wrath, Second Age</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:21:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,374</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28630476</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond is capable, intelligent, wise, and reliable. If only he could stop scandalizing party guests and diplomats.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elrond Peredhel &amp; Ereinion Gil-galad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>239</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Manners and Customs of the Noldor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">The manners were becoming an issue.</p><p class="p1">It was something Ereinion Gil-Galad had never noticed before. To be fair, there had not been much need. During the War, it was difficult enough to keep all of his soldiers fighting and alive, to coordinate the troops and supplies. Meals were taken hastily or in necessity, and battlefield honors were awarded while they were still dripping with the blood of their enemies, more often than not.</p><p class="p1">It had been easy, at the first, to persuade the rest of his company to accept their young kinsmen as their own. It was war. Every able warrior was welcomed with honor. In that madness, it had been easy to shove everything else to the side. What mattered some roughness or suspicion, when the Valar themselves were rending the land beneath them? What matter questions of succession and propriety when they had saved his life, many times?</p><p class="p1">But the war was over. Beleriand was gone, save for a few lonely islands dotting the horizon that had once been mighty fortresses. Mithlond stood tall and elegant, a beacon of beauty amid the wilds of fertile Lindon. Númenor, that great Isle of the Edain, had been raised by the Valar as a gift, and now trade was flowing, as goods and services were once again trafficked through Arda. Some messengers even occasionally came from the far West, though their coming was both auspicious and rare. Sindar and Noldor and Sylvan elves spread through the land of Eriador, establishing new havens and strongholds, finally daring to dream of a time without Shadow, a future without ruin.</p><p class="p1">Slowly, Gil-Galad found himself settling back into the rhythm of life as it had once been, before he had been sent to the Falas.</p><p class="p1">Slowly, other careers and callings began to re-establish themselves. There were still warriors, but they were fewer than before. Many elves who knew little of what to do with themselves in a world of peace turned to being guardsmen, soldiers, explorers, and hunters. Others who had only known war, who had been born during the First Age or shortly before, were slowly finding other life paths, learning themselves drawn to the arts, to the application of statecraft, to architecture, to scholarship.</p><p class="p1">And slowly, Ereinion Gil-Galad was informed, certain things that had been allowed to pass unchallenged or unremarked upon in a time of war, became untenable.</p><p class="p1">“Your Majesty, I fear I <em>must</em> insist once again that you intercede.”</p><p class="p1">“Why?” Gil-Galad asked wearily, rubbing at the spot on his forehead where his circlet usually rested. “Why is it up to me? What has he done now that is so untenable?”</p><p class="p1">“The Númenórean ambassador just arrived,” Radhril said, and looked beseechingly at him, her arms full of scrolls as she walked briskly, attempting to keep up with his long strides. “And he...he hugged them, Your Majesty.”</p><p class="p1">One of Gil-Galad eyebrows twitched. “In private?”</p><p class="p1">“No, Your Majesty. In front of the entire delegation.”</p><p class="p1">“Well...perhaps they are cousins.”</p><p class="p1">“Indeed, Sire.” Radhril paused, looking pained, and Gil-Galad sighed.</p><p class="p1">“There’s more, isn’t there?”</p><p class="p1">“It--yes.” Radhril appeared visibly distressed. “You’re aware of Bregedil, who keeps bees?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes...”</p><p class="p1">“One of her trained foxes was fetching a message to her the other day, and--Sire, he simply snatched it up by the neck, snapped it, and asked if anyone had vinegar for a brine, as the meat would be quite tough.”</p><p class="p1">Gil-Galad winced. “I’ll send a note to Bregedil, and have the creature replaced. And perhaps, a collar could be found?”</p><p class="p1">“And at the dinner party the other night--“</p><p class="p1">“Yes, yes, he seated himself.”</p><p class="p1">“<em>And</em> poured his own wine.”</p><p class="p1">“Yes--“</p><p class="p1">“<em>And</em> left the table out of order.”</p><p class="p1">“Y--“</p><p class="p1">“And muttered under his breath in Quenya with a most <em>peculiar</em> accent when the minstrel sang that particular song...”</p><p class="p1">“Well, why don’t you simply speak to him?” Gil-Galad demanded. “I can’t keep track of all these transgressions. Surely he isn’t the only elf raised in the wilds that we’re having to civilize all of a sudden.”</p><p class="p1">“Of course not, but...” Radhril spread her hands, looking helpless. “None of the others are so highly-born, nor of such high renown. What should I, child of servitors and scribes, say to a great-grandson of Turgon of Gondolin?”</p><p class="p1">“True, he is of noble heritage...”</p><p class="p1">“And a great-grandson of Lúthien,” Radhril added, pained. “He is the son of our brightest star. It’s as if all the myths and heroes of my childhood came together to make one Lord. And then he was...”</p><p class="p1">“...Feral,” Gil-Galad supplied, when she faltered. “I’ll deal with this. I should have before, but...well. We were busy.”</p><p class="p1">And Elrond was far from the only young elf they’d found as a youth, eager to fight and prove himself, who had showed signs of being starved in the wilderness for years before coming to the Falas. Gil-Galad had lost count of how many of his brave warriors from the War had retained some of those habits during peacetime, would secret rolls and bits of meat into the sleeves and pockets of their robes, as if something were whispering to them that they would not have the opportunity to eat later.</p><p class="p1">But he dithered on the problem. Elrond was hardly some farming lad come to make use of himself in a King’s employ. If he’d wanted to, he could have challenged Gil-Galad for High Kingship over the Noldor in Middle-Earth, his lineage was so great. His brother was the King of Númenor, which prospered more year by year, and he was fair and strong, and many had seen his mighty valorous acts during the later years of the War. He was also growing to be a great Healer, and even his second-cousin Galadriel professed him Wise. Yet he never showed the slightest bit of interest in assuming his own rule, of striking out with his followers for a new land, or of challenging Gil-Galad. In everything, he said, <em>“You are my King,”</em> and seemed to mean it with earnest good will.</p><p class="p1">What mattered a few party guests being dismayed? Perhaps they were too married to tradition and propriety in any case. The Noldor had never been a people of stolid peace. They were fierce, builders and seekers and crafters, with eyes that saw far beyond what was into what could be. Elrond was loyal, clever, and brave. Surely the rest would correct itself, in time.</p><p class="p1">Or so he told himself, because this was one conversation he did not wish to have with his Herald.</p><p class="p1">There were more pressing matters, he told himself, and did not think on the matter again--ignoring mutterings that Elrond had stuck his hand into a beehive and licked it clean of honey in the middle of a walk through the gardens--until Radhril sought him out again, breathless and red-faced. “Your <em>Majesty,”</em> she ground out, with a very particular glare that meant there was something he had left unfinished, “I have been bidden to alert you that Lord Elrond is skinning a deer in the Great Hall.”</p><p class="p1">Gil-Galad dragged a hand down his face. “Why?” he asked, hoping for mild amusement as he quickened his steps.</p><p class="p1">“One of the cooks was talking to some of our hunters, and said there wasn’t room in the kitchens, but the Western delegation is coming in now, and he just said, ‘Why not right here? There’s plenty of room!’ and snatched the beast away...”</p><p class="p1">Gil-Galad sighed, and threw open the doors to the Great Hall, eyes immediately lighting on Elrond Peredhel, standing tall and regal, with his robes hanging over one chair, and his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Elrond looked over at him, and smiled, bowing in a most correct fashion. “Your Majesty,” he said, as if there weren’t a small army of concerned, indignant elves clustering around the table, trying to look as though they weren’t scandalized. “I hear there is to be a feast tonight?”</p><p class="p1">“Indeed,” Gil-Galad said, feeling as though he were approaching a potentially dangerous creature, though the only real threat was to the pristine conditions of his floors. “Elrond, perhaps we could move the beast to the kitchens.”</p><p class="p1">“Nonsense, the kitchens are full. This will only take a moment.”</p><p class="p1">Gil-Galad opened his mouth to protest that he had no hook or gambrel. Then Elrond hoisted the beast up with his right hand, and pulled out a long knife with his left, flipping it over casually until the point rested at the creature’s stomach, and Gil-Galad’s breath caught.</p><p class="p1">He hadn’t thought of that memory for a long time. The elf had been enormous--or maybe, he had just been very small. The day had been cold, with the tang of crispness that even a late spring day always had in Himring. He had brought down his first deer, couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, and the elf who had raised him as a father had been drilling with Himring’s archers. It was Maedhros Fëanorian who had taught him how to skin a deer, who had flicked his knife into position <em>exactly</em> like that, in his left hand with practiced grace. <em>“In Himring, he who shoots the deer has the honor of dressing and skinning it.”</em></p><p class="p1">He wondered, suddenly, whether Maedhros had ever tousled Elrond’s hair, and bidden him to sing songs of Prince Fingon, and carried him on his shoulders during snowball fights, and pointed out to him the best spots to drive his spear into orcs, and taught him to track pheasants in the woods. He must have.</p><p class="p1">Just as the tip of the blade started to sink in, Gil-Galad shook himself, and said, “Stop. Not in the Hall. The blood will stain the floors.”</p><p class="p1">Elrond blinked, and looked down at the floors, elegant white marble swirled with intricate designs. “Oh. Apologies,” he said, sounding slightly flustered. “I thought naught of it.”</p><p class="p1">“Indeed. Come, walk with me.”</p><p class="p1">“But the deer--“</p><p class="p1">“Let he who shot the deer have the honor of dressing and skinning it,” Gil-Galad said without thinking, and saw a flicker of recognition in Elrond’s eyes, and a tiny flaring of his nostrils as he inhaled.</p><p class="p1">Elrond flicked the knife back into his belt sheath, and nodded at one of the hunters, who scurried forward to take the beast from him. It took two of them to lug it away--Elrond was tall and strong even for one of the Noldor--and Gil-Galad turned his back on them, leading Elrond out the doors towards the gardens.</p><p class="p1">“You did not check the floors to see if they would stain?” he asked, without preamble, as soon as they were away from any possible prying ears.</p><p class="p1">“Forgive me, Your Majesty. It did not occur to me to do so.”</p><p class="p1">Elrond was taller than he was, though not by much. Gil-Galad supposed that being descended from Thingol of Doriath and Turgon of Gondolin both would yield such fruits. “Perhaps we could have a conversation, about certain things that may not have...occurred to you,” he suggested.</p><p class="p1">“Such as?”</p><p class="p1">This was stupid. Gil-Galad hated this conversation already. “Such as, perhaps, table manners,” he managed, and tried not to feel as if he were overly fussy, as his father had often accused him of being. “I know, I know, it’s rather foolishly stuffy to worry about such things, especially after--“</p><p class="p1">“Is there something wrong with my table manners?” Elrond asked, and to Gil-Galad’s surprise, sounded aghast.</p><p class="p1">“Well...” Gil-Galad floundered for words. “That is--yes,” he said, eventually. “Among other things.”</p><p class="p1">“Among--“ Elrond’s eyes widened. “I...why has no one brought this to my attention?”</p><p class="p1">“I suppose...the story of your upbringing is somewhat legendary,” Gil-Galad said, frowning. “Also, you are not least among us, in wisdom, skill, craft, or rank.”</p><p class="p1">“What should that have to do with it?” Elrond demanded, with the sort of blunt frankness that sometimes reminded Gil-Galad that he was, in fact, half-human. “No one cared for my <em>rank</em> when we were fighting the War.”</p><p class="p1">“They did, though. Do you think anyone else, upon wandering out of a cave into the Falas upon the eve of battle, would have been given a command?”</p><p class="p1">“If they were as competent as we were, in the middle of a war?” Elrond asked, nonplussed and mildly indignant. “I should certainly hope so. It was not as though you had so many to choose from.”</p><p class="p1">At that point, no, he hadn’t. Gil-Galad acknowledged the touch with a nod of his head. “No, I hadn’t. But...well, it’s not wartime any longer. Perhaps you would be interested in studying some of the Customs Manuals in the libraries?”</p><p class="p1">Elrond’s eyes widened slightly. “I...I used to have a compendium like that, back in Amon Ereb. It was missing a few pages, but I thought I had learned it quite well. Such as, never stepping in front of the king when he is walking, even if he walks slowly.”</p><p class="p1">Gil-Galad raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I walk slowly?”</p><p class="p1">“No. But I’ve trained myself to keep up with those with...much longer legs.”</p><p class="p1">Gil-Galad bit his tongue. “Perhaps we could look at the manuals together. I must say, I’m amazed to hear that the fortress at Amon Ereb had all nineteen volumes of Customs and Manners of the Noldor. I had thought it rather rustic.”</p><p class="p1">“...We only had one,” Elrond said slowly, with dawning comprehension. “Oh. Oh, Valar. It was a series?”</p><p class="p1">Gil-Galad smiled, and patted his shoulder. “Let’s go to the libraries, shall we?”</p><p class="p1">“Ah, yes, perhaps that would be for the best.”</p><p class="p1">“But, Elrond?”</p><p class="p1">“Yes, Your Majesty?”</p><p class="p1">Gil-Galad squeezed his shoulder, and said, soft enough that they would not be overheard, “As far as I’m concerned, any elf who leads, counsels, heals, and fights like you would be welcome at my side even if he only ate rats in the raw.”</p><p class="p1">Elrond’s cheeks grew slightly pink, but he bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Though perhaps I will save that trick for an especially boring party.”</p><p class="p1">“<em>Please</em> see that you do. Making Radhril faint would be worthy of a promotion, I’m certain.”</p><p class="p1">“If you promote me much farther, it will be me wearing the crown and you causing scenes at parties, Your Majesty.”</p><p class="p1">“As long as Radhril faints, I think I can live with that.”</p>
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